


The Love of a Lady

by siriuslydraco



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Jonsa - Fandom
Genre: 1900's AU, Downton Abbey AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslydraco/pseuds/siriuslydraco
Summary: "You know, marrying Jon Snow wouldn't be the worst thing Sansa" her mother told her "after all he is the heir to Winterfell Abbey""Oh Mother, you know me. I'd never marry any man I was told to"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first jonsa fic! i love this couple and just needed to write this au for them

Yorkshire, 1912 

Quaint and humble, the Yorkshire country town of Bampton seemed mute and dreamy as the early morning arrived, and nothing stirred as the clouds parted in the sky. 

The sunshine beamed down on the amber bricks of the small cottages, and on the red roof of the post office and bounced off the stained glass windows of the small chapel. If a stranger had wandered into the village they would have thought it was the quietest and least busy town in 20th Century Britain. 

But if one had cared to inspect further they might have discovered that down the wide open lanes, hidden behind an expanse of evergreens and sitting on the flattest land was the magnificent Winterfell Abbey. Far from humble, and far from quiet. 

Inside there was bustling of all orders and shifting to and from the different rooms, as maids and footmen made the preparations that were usually required this early in the morning. One such person who was charging through the rooms with a determined purpose, was the fidgeting housekeeper. Her dark eyes peering into every servants corner in the downstairs of the huge house. 

“Where is Gilly?” Osha called as she made her way through the servants kitchens, her bunch of keys swinging proudly by her hip “has anyone seen her?” 

Ygritte, a slim, redheaded young girl stopped just as her foot reached the bottom stair. She had been on her way to set the tables for breakfast, when she had heard mention of the kitchen maid. She turned towards the housekeeper and noticed the furrowed look on her face. 

“I seen her go up to the library this morning, she said she had to clean the fires Mrs Jones” the redhead told her. Osha turned towards Ygritte with a heavy sigh and an eye roll. 

“I told Gilly to clean the _dining_ room fire and the _tea_ room, not the library. Would you please go up and tell her, my dear? I swear that girl would lose her head if it wasn’t screwed on properly” she asked with a soft smile, and Ygritte gave a nod, straightening up her housemaids uniform before continuing on her way up the stairs. 

At least that was one problem sorted out, thought Osha. Gilly was always running off and getting things mixed up. She sighed as she thought of the million other things that needed to be done this morning, just like it needed to be done every morning. 

Being housekeeper of such a huge estate was tiring at the best of times, but she was glad of the bustling of the servants quarters that was happening all around her. That meant people were up and doing their jobs. 

“Alright” she said, clasping her hands together as she walked into the kitchen and speaking in her clear voice “I want everyone’s attention” 

“Yes Sergeant” came a mutter, followed by a giggle but Osha had heard, and shot a glare as cold as ice towards a boy with hair as black as coal. 

“I’ll remind you Ramsay you are here as a favour to your father, I will not tolerate cheek in this house. Not while I’m housekeeper. Anymore out of you and I’ll have you packed up on the next train home” she told him sharply “and you Theon, I expect more from you” 

Her scalding was followed by two murmurs of “ _Sorry_ ”, both boys hanging their heads and suddenly very interested in their feet. In the meantime, the houses butler Mr Luwin had ghosted into the kitchen, his black eyes beady as he stared at the two young footmen who had just displayed the sort of behaviour he detested. 

“Theon and Ramsay, you’ll be serving breakfast this morning as usual but Lord Stark is to catch the twelve o’clock train to London, so his luggage will need to be pressed and packed before then” Osha noted and both boys nodded “and Gendry,.....” 

She looked around the large kitchen, her eyes scanning everywhere, but the handsome young chauffeur was nowhere to be seen. She let out her one hundredth sigh of the day and closed her eyes, half tempted to pull out all the pins in her hair due to aggravation. But just then came the skidding and breathlessness of the tall boy as he rushed to her side. 

“How many times have I told you to not be ....” her tangent wore off the minute she looked at his face “my god boy, you’re face is snow white! You look as though you’ve seen the ghost of Lord Rickard” 

“Not Lord Rickard” Gendry panted out, a sheen of sweat on his face. 

“Then what is it boy?” Luwin the butler asked, creases deep in his forehead as it furrowed with concern. Gendry looked as though the words were too painful to speak, as if there were daggers sitting on his lips. Osha noticed that he was shaking, the newspapers he was clutching were trembling like moths wings in his hands and in the other he held a brown envelope. 

“Gendry.....what is it?” the housekeeper asked him, putting a hand on his quaking arm. 

“I went to the village to pick up the papers like I always do, and then Mr Cerwyn from the post office stopped me, told me he might as well give me a message as I was going up this way anyhow” Gendy told them, nodding to the brown envelope “it’s a telegram, I only put two and two together when I read the headline of the newspaper” 

“What is it?” Ramsay asked, his usual high voice rising octaves above as it shook with worry. Gendry was normally one of the rare level headed servants at Winterfell Abbey, and never got caught up in gossip or controversy, so for him to be in this state was highly alarming. 

Gendry didn’t speak but just held out the newspaper, its thin pages rattling along with every shake of the young chauffeurs body. Osha took it from him, almost afraid to look but she did, her dark eyes slowly dropping to the massive headline. She had to read it four times to make sure it was really there, that it was really printed in front of her. 

“No, that’s impossible” she cried, shaking her head “it’s impossible” 

“What’s impossible? What’s happened? It’s not King George is it? Has he died?” Theon asked concerned but Osha just kept shaking her head. 

Mr Luwin took the paper from her trembling hands and his own body felt like shaking where he stood. He could not believe his eyes, because printed right in front of him was something that was promised would never happen, something that was about to destroy the Stark family forever. 

 **TITANIC SINKS;**   _Great loss of life_  

“You say that’s a telegram?” Mr Luwin asked Gendry. 

“Yes, Mr Cerwyn said it was of great importance that Lord Stark receive it as soon as possible” Gendry replied “it doesn’t sound too good does it?” 

“No, I’m afraid my boy, it does not” the old butler said solemnly. For it was not because a great piece of history had sank to the bottom of the ocean, or even for all those other people that had lost their lives that the servants of Winterfell Abbey were distraught for. It was the thought that the two youngest Stark boys, were now lost at sea. 

Almost three weeks ago the young boys had made their way to Belfast to board the tremendous ship along with their grandfather Lord Hoster, in hopes to join their family in New York for two months. Both boys had been so excited to see the big city and Osha found there was a hardened lump in her throat when she thought of the most certain worst possibility that the two boys would never return home. 

In the near distance - although to Osha’s swimming mind it seemed very far away- a bell rang as it jingled where it hung on the servants board. It was Lady Sansa’s bell, signalling that she was now awake and ready to be assisted by her handmaid. 

“Someone has to tell....the family” Oshas’s voice was a whisper and the men that stood around her seemed frozen and mute, not able to volunteer themselves to hand the telegram to Lord Stark. 

“I shall do it” Butler Luwin addressed, feeling already the weight of impending grief.

* * *

The sun was bright in the sky, the soft rays splitting through the tiny crack in the deep grey curtains. Sansa ran a hand through her long red hair, her fingers nimbly pulling through the knotted curls. In this light, when the sun danced across them, they resembled the licking flames of an inferno. Her hair looked wild and dangerous. 

At this thought she pulled her hand free from her hair and huffed as she arose from her bed. She didn’t like being wild or dangerous. That was Arya’s job. Sansa liked reading in quiet libraries and having tea with Granny under the apple trees. She was a proper lady, she always had been. 

She pulled her curtains back in one swift movement, and squinted her eyes as the sun shone in. It was a beautiful day, she thought, she wasn’t going to let anything ruin it. A soft knock on her door made her head spin around, and in modest response she crossed her arms over herself, the lace of her nightgown bunching tighter.  

“Who is it?” Sansa called out, her voice smooth like honey even for this hour in the morning. 

“It’s Jeyne, mi’lady” came the voice of her lady’s maid, and Sansa relaxed at the sound of it. 

“You can come in” she told her, turning around and taking a seat on the pouffe grey cushioned stool at her vanity table. She eyed Jeyne in the mirror as she made her way into the room, the bright blue of her uniform bringing out the crimson blush that spotted her cheeks. 

“How are you this morning, Lady Sansa?” Jeyne asked, walking over to Sansa’s Edwardian closet and picking out the dress that had been pressed and hung the previous night. 

“I’m quite fine, thank you” the red head replied, covering her mouth with a pale hand to hide a yawn. 

“Tired, I see” the young maid gave a smile as she lay the green dress on the bed, along with a string of white pearls and a pair of gloves. Sansa eyed it through the mirror with a small smile, she always liked green on herself. 

“I had the strangest of dreams last night. I kept dreaming of crows and snow. Isn’t that strange, Jeyne?” Sansa gave a small laugh as Jeyne began gently brushing out the knots in her long hair. Jeyne was always the most delicate, and Sansa was certainly glad she had her as a lady’s maid. 

“Not strange, my Lady. My mother always said our dreams can tell us more about our lives than we can tell ourselves” Jeyne said, running the brush through Sansa’s fiery hair once more. 

“What could snow and black birds tell me about my life?” the young Lady Stark shook her head. 

“Maybe it’s something to come? Who knows, my Lady, maybe we’re to expect an early winter” Jeyne smiled, making Sansa laugh aloud. Her laugh sounded like church bells. 

“Well my father always says winter is coming. Maybe he’s right” she smiled “tell me Jeyne, do you know if my brother is awake yet? I wish to invite him along to ride with me today since Lady Brienne is in London this week” 

“Oh yes, he’s awake. I ran into him this morning in the drawing room” Jeyne said softly, mustering a sigh behind her lips. Sansa noticed her eyes looked dreamy through the mirror as she began pinning Sansa’s hair high on her head. 

“So that’s why you’re cheeks were as red as a milkmaid’s” Sansa laughed, watching as Jeyne blushed even more. Her mouth opened and closed so many times Sansa began to wonder if she had lost her voice completely. 

It was always nice to joke around with Jeyne in the mornings and evenings when she came to dress Sansa. She blushed far too often at the mention of the eldest Stark and even though Sansa knew any future with them together was impossible, she still liked to tease her about him. In these moments, when they were in Sansa’s room, it seemed almost that they were just two girls who were friends. 

Sansa didn’t have to think of herself as Lady of Winterfell Abbey, even though Jeyne addressed her as my lady every few seconds. She didn’t have to think of Jeyne as her maid, just a friend who liked doing Sansa’s hair. They told one another everything. Jeyne always told Sansa the latest gossip from downstairs, and Sansa told her all about the suitors she so often met. 

“My Lady...you must think me a fool to -” 

“Blush around a handsome man?” Sansa quirked an eyebrow “I’m Robb’s sister but I’m still able to see the affect he has on young women, you’re no different Jeyne” 

“I’m a housemaid. I _am_ different” there was a sadness in her tone that made Sansa’s heart sink, but there were no words of comfort she could give her. What could she say? Sansa couldn’t tell her that if she persisted her brother might fall for her. Robb was heir to Winterfell, he would marry some other Lady. She knew that her parents hoped he’d marry Lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden Estate. 

Jeyne finished Sansa’s bun with one last pin, pushing it tight into her red hair. She stood back to admire her handiwork, and then smiled widely at Sansa. 

“There, my lady, you’re all done” she said “we’ll get you dressed now” 

But before either girl could make their way behind the hand painted screen that Sansa was dressed behind every morning and night, the door to her room was opened. Sansa was about to scald whoever it was for barging into a lady’s room without the proper courtesy of knocking first, but as the person stepped around the door, all words of curtness abandoned her. 

It was Arya, her hair unfashionable and loose, her dark curls swinging past her waist. She still had her nightgown on and her feet were bare, the very state of her shocking Sansa deeply. No lady would ever walk around their house in such a state of undress. But as Sansa took in her younger sister, it was her eyes that took her aback. 

They were red and puffy and the tears still streamed from her face, as if the cause of her upset had only happened recently. Arya was nineteen years old, and hadn’t cried since they were children. No fall or accident had ever made Arya cry liked she cried now. 

“What’s the matter?” Sansa was over to her in a second, abruptly taking her arms. Normally Sansa and Arya cared little for one another, barely conversing and only appearing together for social events. It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other, but sometimes they were just too different to get along. 

“It’s....it’s....” her younger sister sobbed, making Jeyne rush about to fetch a handkerchief. 

“Arya tell me! Is it mother, is she well? Oh no it’s Granny isn’t it? What happened to Granny, Arya?” Sansa cried, always letting her mind jump to conclusions. 

“It’s our brother’s” she whispered “Bran and Rickon, they’re dead” 

“No, no they’re not” Sansa shook her head furiously “how dare you play such a horrid joke on me! Have you no heart, Arya?” 

She dropped her hands from Arya’s arms rather quickly, hoping that she had hurt her somehow. How dare she play such a cruel trick, thought Sansa, Mother will hear about this later. But Arya’s tears didn’t relent and she didn’t laugh out and tell Sansa how her face had paled or how funny it was to see her shock for just a moment. She didn’t do any of that. She stood there, crying and sobbing into the handkerchief Jeyne had given her. 

There was a shadow by the door, and Sansa looked up to find her father and brother in the doorway,  Robb’s  eyes glistening with moisture. Her father held something small and brown in his hands. A telegram most certainly, and there was something about his face that made her heart pound with nervousness. 

“No, it’s not true” Sansa wailed, knowing now exactly what was happening. Arya hadn’t come as a joke, she’d come because of the truth. The horrible, life shattering truth. 

“I am so sorry, Sansa” Lord Eddard spoke, that lordly tone making him seem like he was holding it altogether. But she knew he wasn’t. 

“No” she heard herself whisper right before the world started to sway. She remembered both her lady’s maid and her brother rushing toward her, and then everything went black. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The godswood was small, and hidden within the shade of the large house. The bleached white trees with their red leaves clustered together, their roots buried deep within the earthy brown soil. Sansa hadn’t come here in years since she cared little for the old ways that her fathers family had practiced. 

_“Centuries ago”_  Lord Eddard had once told her  _“our ancestors used to pray here. We too should carry on their legacy”_

She cared little for legacies, or customs. She cared less for something so juvenile as _praying_. But here she sat, beneath the shade of the spiraling branches. She could see Winterfell Abbey from here, not far away at all but horribly out of reach. It stood mighty and proud atop the flat land, its windows gleaming and the grey stone setting against the blue sky. 

I wonder, Sansa thought as the weirwood leaves fluttered in the breeze, would our ancestors be proud of _our_ legacy? The one that _we’ve_ created? 

She looked upon the great house again, but it provided her with no answer. It just stood there, reminding her too much of the reason she was in the godswood in the first place. 

Rickon often came here, and use to read under the dome of the stone gazebo that stood beyond the rivers edge. The faint rushing of the stream behind her made her remember the summer eves when he had read aloud for her the classics he admired. The rustle of the leaves echoed the turning of the pages of the books he held so dear. That memory was a ghost now. Just like my brother, she thought. 

The Stark flag, along with the Union Jack that flew above her home reminded her of Bran. She remembered feeling unease as he would balance along the parapets of the great houses roof to swing along the flagpoles just to scare her. He had succeeded many times, making her scream and almost faint every time she would see him standing on the colossally high roof of the Jacobethan style house. 

Sansa would have given anything to see the glee on Bran’s face as he climbed higher, or to hear Rickon’s soft voice as he read her the sonnets of John Donne. 

She was unaware she had been crying until the sharp sting of filling tears made her squeeze her eyes shut. It was really the only place she could cry, maybe that was why she came here lately. If Sansa stayed in her room she knew Arya would come in to her, seeking a comfort Sansa could not give her. Or Jeyne, her lady’s maid, would knock and offer her food and drink she could not stomach. She also didn’t want to see the concern in Jeyne’s eyes, somehow that would kill Sansa. 

Her Lady mother had not stepped foot from her room in over a week, and Sansa was beginning to wonder whether her mother was a ghost now too. Arya disappeared from the house often, and when she came back she looked a little more alive, only to look dead again come the morning. Robb was much like her father, holding it all together for the sake of their image in society. 

It was ridiculous, Sansa thought, for a father to be unable to show his devastation in public. Who would care? The _footmen_? _Butler Luwin_? Certainly not Osha, who had been sporting red eyes and a pale face all week. She had always loved the boys with all her heart. That, Sansa had saw for herself. 

But Lord Eddard was proud and strong, and held himself together for the dozens of sympathisers who came wearing black clothes to the doors of Winterfell. He accepted their sympathy and wishes with lordly manners and courtesy but Sansa heard him cry himself to sleep every night in the guest room beside her. He hadn’t slept beside Lady Catelyn since the news had arrived via telegram. 

She folded her arms around herself and squeezed her eyes horribly tight, feeling that if she did so she could open them again and find this had all been a dream. She had thought that very thing when she had awoken from her fainting spell. 

_“I had a dream”_ she had said, light headed and pale as she lay on her bed with Jeyne looking down upon her  _“of icy waters and screaming children. I dreamed of Bran and Rickon clinging to each other in the depths”_  

_“My darling daughter, it was no dream”_ Eddard had told her and he had held her hand and rubbed Arya’s back as both daughters had wept. 

She wept now, silently and painfully as she sat in her mourning clothes on the dry ground of the godswood. With nothing but the trees to listen to her. Or so she thought. 

“This was the last place I thought to look for you” a voice said from behind her. It was Robb, she had no need to turn around to know it was him. Sansa felt him sit beside her, a soft grunt leaving his mouth as he sat low on the ground. 

“That is why I came here” she told him gravely, making herself look into his eyes. She regretted it instantly, they were full of anguish. “I do not wish to be followed, Arya has not relented from trailing after me at breakfast or in the evenings. It unsettles me so” 

“You should not quarrel with Arya, she means well. You have to remember she’s grieving too, and she needs the comfort of her only sister” Robb told her, the sun sparkling off his auburn hair. He looked so much like their mother, she thought. So much like me. Would he too be lost to her so easily someday? As Bran and Rickon had been lost? 

“I was never good at comforting people, or offering my sympathies. Perhaps that’s why everyone thinks me so cold hearted” she spoke bitterly, almost feeling her heart turn to ice inside her. 

“You can’t be as cold hearted as the Lannisters” Robb grimaced and as she looked at him she saw so much of their father in the hard set of his mouth and in the stony Stark glare in his eyes. The Starks had always hated the Lannisters. “They’re making the journey to Yorkshire tommorow....for the funeral next week” 

“ _Funeral_ ” Sansa found it in herself to scoff at the notion “I think it’s barbaric, burying empty coffins and gathering to mourn our brothers memories” 

“Would you wish for us to do nothing?” Robb looked at her, his handsome face twisted “to leave our brothers deaths as open wounds? At least this will give us some closure” 

_And what,_ Sansa thought inside her head, _what if Bran and Rickon were to come home one day and find their headstones in Bampton cemetery? Would they be hurt to know their family had given up on them so easily?_

Sansa had not dared voice this thought aloud, but it was one that had haunted her. There had been many rescued people from the Titanic sinking and she couldn’t help but imagine her brothers were among them. Robb would tell her it was a child’s fancy to believe such things, so she kept it behind her lips. 

“I want for us to be a family again. I do not wish to honor my brothers memories, I want to honor them while they live, here at Winterfell where they belong” Sansa cried, feeling foolish and childlike as she sobbed in front of her oldest brother. Her _only_ brother. 

“You must remember to be strong Sansa, especially now. We will have to stick together, as a family, especially when the lions come knocking on our door” her brother told her, angling his body closer to hers. 

“What do you mean Robb?” she asked, her naturally arched brows furrowing. 

“Father has only one heir, now that Bran and Rickon are gone. Their inheritance will now be divided among us three remaining Stark children, which means we are wealthier than we were before. I fear, my dear sister, that within the next few months you will receive more marriage proposals than you have before” 

“I will not accept! Not one single proposal” she huffed indignantly, squirming against the weirwood bark and feeling her black chiffon blouse itch her skin. 

“I feel Cersei will not be able to resist flinging Joffrey at you” Robb made a disgusted face. 

“Joffrey Baratheon is the most ghastly creature to ever walk upon the earth” Sansa wiped her eyes with the lace of her sleeve. 

“Ghastly or no, Father needs another heir, should anything ever happen to me. You’re a women, therefore you can’t inherit but your husband can if no other blood relative to the Stark line comes forward. As far as I know all of Father’s relatives are dead” Robb told her with a heavy sigh. 

_You needn't worry,_ she wanted to tell him, _nothing will ever happen to you. I will not lose another brother._ But something about the way the weirwood leaves rustled above him, made her feel uneasy. 

* * *

 

**Manchester** , _**1912**. 9 days after the Titanic sinking _

The streets were littered with paperboys catcalling the latest headline of the newspapers they waved in peoples faces. Some were surrounded with people pushing and shoving to get the latest printed edition of The Times or The Herald. The billowing puffs of smoke from the trains and factories nearby made it hard to see the pavement in front and the jostling passing of strangers was enough to set someone off course. 

Jon Snow however, had walked these streets from the time he was a boy, and knew every crack and crevice in the Manchester pathways. It would take more than a briskly walking lady with a lace parasol to make him stumble from his route. 

He ignored the offers from the young boys who sold the papers as he made his way to work, shaking his head or waving his hand in refusal. He had read about the Titanic so much this week that he felt he himself had all but boarded the ship and had drowned in the waters among the others. He was done with reading about the woes and horrible deaths of so many innocent people. It was this he blamed for his unusual dreams this week. 

Castle Black Solicitors loomed up before him, the modest brick building sitting attached so a seamstresses workshop and next to that was a shoemakers. He had worked here for the past three years, and had frequented its premises for most of his life. His father had passed it to him when he had died, and now Jon came to work every day, hoping he could carry on his legacy rightfully. 

He tipped off his bowler hat as he stepped inside, leaving his hat and coat on the hanger beside the door. His hand gripped his briefcase a little more tightly as he made his way up the stairs towards his office, last nights dream playing fresh on his mind. 

He had dreamed of icy waters, much like the ones those people from the colossal ship had drowned in. He had been looking down at the rushing waves, his dreaming self bewildered as to why he was there and then, like a spark of flame beneath the ice, he had seen her. A ghost face, beautiful and frightening and crowned with hair the color of flames. She had lay under the waters, her hair splayed out around her, begging to be saved yet he could not move. He could not save her. 

He had woken with a start, covered in sweat and panting out rapid breaths. 

Even now, with the morning light streaming into his office he still felt uneasy thinking of it. He set his briefcase on the oak desk and sat down on the Victorian swivel chair, feeling it move from side to side as his weight landed on it. As soon as he sat down, his dark head dropped into his hands, his fingers beginning to run through his hair but he soon stopped himself. His unruly curls were always kept gelled back in one of the common styles in public, and he could not feed himself on one of his habits. He often pulled his hair at night in frustration. 

“Rough night, Snow?” a gruff voice asked him as the office door swung open. Jon’s eyes flicked to the door, his lips twitching at the sides at the sight of his partner. Tormund stood in the doorway, his suit impeccable on his broad body and a twisted smirk on his face. 

“Not for me. How about you, Bane? Frequent any bars last night?” Jon asked. 

“You know me, I’m a Dane. We can never seem to stay away from places that have beer” he gave a smirk and a wink as he made his way towards his end of the office. 

There was a small vase of blue roses on one of the wooden writing desks and Tormund moved it to accommodate his briefcase. Something about it unsettled Jon. He always liked to keep a vase of blue flowers around, they reminded him of his dear mother. 

“The post was at the door when I came in” Tormund said, digging letters from the leather case. When he turned around the sudden shock of his red hair made Jon freeze. It reminded him all too much of the helpless girl in his dream. A girl who needed saving. 

“This one was personally addressed to you” Tormund handed the letter to Jon, the feel of it smooth and heavy in his hands. 

“Who would be writing to me?” Jon asked as he opened the letter, his hand a little shaky as he pulled it out. 

“I asked myself the same question” Tormund sat on his desk and twirled the end of his beard with a finger “you have no friends” 

Jon couldn’t even bring himself to quip back smartly, or to even smile at the comment. His eyes and his mind were too wrapped up in the elegant script before him, the words thick and black and burning as he read them. Tormund was silent, and he mused as he watched his friend with curious eyes. 

Jon read the letter four times before he could bring himself to look Tormund in the eye. There had been a name. _Lord Eddard Stark_. It was familiar and strange all at once. Like a dream he couldn’t wake from. 

“What is it? Some old bat who wants us to take their case?” Tormund speculated, hoping it wasn’t some old lady or other who wanted to fight the entail of their childrens inheritance. But Jon shook his head slowly, his eyes going from the letter to his friend and back again. 

“It’s from someone who wants to change my life”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Baratheons arrive at Winterfell and Jon Snow begins the journey ahead of him.

 

_**Winterfell Abbey. Yorkshire. 1912.** _

The sun was shining when the Baratheons arrived, the beaming rays glinting off the rose colored windows from the upstairs of Winterfell Abbey. The grand house stood proud and serene against the backdrop of green trees and manicured lawns and in the distance Sansa could see their motor approaching the driveway. The whole entire household was lined up and waiting for them to step from the black cars that had collected them from the train station. Every lady’s maid and footman, Mr Luwin and Osha and even Mr Cassel the horse master were standing on the golden gravel awaiting their guests. 

It was proper, thought Sansa, the proper courteous thing to do to greet a visiting regal family whenever they were being hosted by an aristocratic English household. But it didn’t _feel_ proper. 

She had never liked the Baratheons much, except perhaps Myrcella who was lovelier than most of her cunning relatives. She had never seen the appeal her father found in Robert, nor seen the purpose of displaying ladylike courtesies to a woman like Cersei when she herself held no real values. Tommen, the youngest of Cersei and Robert’s children, was timid and a bit soft minded while the eldest Joffrey was a devil in angels clothing. 

Sansa could feel the tension rolling off of her siblings on either side of her. Robb’s eyes were reduced to slits and his jaw was clenching tightly as the Southern family climbed from their motors. Arya’s breathing was coming out of her in slow but angry puffs and as Sansa glanced down at her she could see how her cheeks were coloring a furious pink. 

It was the presence of Joffrey that was doing it, Sansa was sure and as she looked at him underneath the beaming sun she was reminded of the last time she had seen him. He had grown much since then, but that had been almost a decade ago. He was in his early twenties now like she was, and he no longer had the softness of boyhood on his features. 

He looked much like his mother Cersei, now more than he ever had, but there was still that juvenile smirk that rested beneath his mature face. His eyes glanced over her now in a way that couldn’t have been missed. Something about it made her chill. 

“Robert!” Lord Eddard exclaimed, his arms outstretched as he welcomed his old friend. 

“Ned” the rumble of Lord Robert’s voice was as deep as it had ever been and Sansa suddenly felt younger all of a sudden as she remembered that voice telling her stories of her father during the South African War. She might have loved him once, like an Uncle or a second father.

“It’s been a long time” Sansa’s father said, clasping Robert’s hand tightly as he shook it. She could see it in Ned’s face; how the lines of sadness seemed to soften almost immediately with the presence of his greatest friend before him. 

“It’s been too long! Look at these children, all grown now!” Robert boomed, gesturing towards his own and the Stark’s. Cersei stood beside her children looking altogether bored with the situation, until the second car, driven by Gendry arrived in front of the house.

Sansa had known who would be accompanying the Baratheons, but still she stood up a little straighter at the anticipation of seeing them. It was always an exciting prospect whenever Jaime Lannister was around. Behind her in the lines of servants she could almost feel Jeyne’s smile, and hear her intake of breath. 

He stepped from the car as Gendry held his door open, black coat impeccably draped over his body, a black hat placed on top of his crown of golden hair and a smile on his face that would have knocked the breath out of the most staunch lady. He was accompanied by his dwarf brother, Tyrion, a child sized bowler hat placed on his head and his short body framed in a tweed coat. 

“Lord Stark, it’s a pleasure as always” Jaime greeted with, his voice as soft as the summer breeze. Sansa tried not to swoon too much while he was around, and had never succeeded well when she was a girl. Back then Jeyne hadn’t been around, and she had been too young for her own lady’s maid. So she had to crush on him all by herself since Arya was no fun when it came to boys. 

Jaime Lannister was still the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on, but as she looked at him now she felt nothing inside of her. She had no emotion these days besides grief. Beside him his brother waddled from the car, a short cane in his hand and the other stretched out towards her father. 

“I am grievously sorry for your loss, Lord Stark” Tyrion, the dwarf told him. He was the only one who had said it, she thought, the only one to offer condolences. He turned towards the family and smiled, looking up at them from his short height. 

“Robb my dear fellow, how much you’ve grown since last I saw you” he said, shaking her brothers hand when he eventually managed to stop in front of them, his cane making indents in the gravel. 

“I’m twenty five now. I believe I wasn’t much older than sixteen when last you saw me” Robb shook his hand back, a smile on his face. It wasn’t real, just courteous. 

“And dear Sansa and Arya, how lovely you two are” he exclaimed, taking Sansa’s velvet gloved hand and kissing it. He was a dwarf, yes, and the butt of many jokes among the aristocratic families, but he was always a gentleman whenever Sansa had met him “you are a true Tully Sansa, you look just like your mother. Where is dear Cat? I would very much like to see her”  

“I offer my apologies but my dear wife was unwell and could not come down to meet with you. She extends her hospitality however” Ned told them, a tightness in his shoulders and a hardness in his eyes as he spoke. 

“Well I extend my condolences to Lady Stark, on behalf of my father who could not be here today” Jaime said “and to the whole family of course” 

“Thank you, it’s greatly appreciated” Ned replied with a smile, a tight one that was especially put there because of Jaime. Sansa’s father had never liked him much. “How about we go inside, dinner will be ready soon I’m sure. Our cook and the kitchen staff have been preparing for your arrival all week. I’m sure you’ll find them up to your standards” 

The faces of the household staff- all except for Sansa and Arya’s governess Mrs Mordane- rose into smiles as the attention was shifted towards them. Sansa couldn’t help but notice that when the other Baratheons were giving nods of appreciation for the staffs efforts, Lord Robert couldn’t take his eyes off of Arya. 

There was a look in his eyes that made Sansa’s heart feel sorry and she knew exactly why he looked as if he were shattering before them. With Arya’s long black hair that reached her waist in curls and her undeniable Stark colouring, she looked exactly like the ghost of the girl he had once loved. 

“Ned, I wonder if we could visit the crypts” Robert asked his old friend just as he was about to turn into the door. Ned looked at him with an unexpected glint of shock in his eyes. Cersei, the blonde and beautiful women scoffed without trying to hide her indignity. 

“You heard Lord Stark, my beloved” she spoke softly, all her cruelness hidden in the twist of her mouth “dinner is nearly ready, it would be rude after all the trouble the kitchen maids have gone through if we do not attend on time. Surely the dead can wait” 

Robert just gave her a look that could have colored the sky with a storm but said nothing, and neither did Cersei again. 

“Sansa my dear, would you please be so kind as to show our guests into the house” her father asked her, a pleading look on his face. He knew of her discomfort towards the family, but nevertheless she plastered on a graceful smile and nodded. 

“Of course father, I’d be delighted” she told them, extending a hand towards the large house and letting their guests move in ahead. For one moment she was grateful that she had Arya for company, a rare thought but one that was true enough at this time. But as she turned her head to find her she realised she was no longer there. Her dark haired sister was nowhere to be found, but as she stretched her neck she found her drifting in among the dispersing servants, walking beside one very handsome chauffeur.

* * *

 

_**Piccadilly Train Station. Manchester. 1912.** _

The letter was thin and wrinkled from where Jon had folded it and unfolded it so many times. He swore he knew it off by heart by now, but still something in his mind made him believe it was untrue. Maybe this was why he read it so much. 

It now lay in his hands, the deep crinkles in the paper obscuring some of the ink but he still was able to manage the words. He ran a finger over the wax seal that had been on the envelope. It had been a long time since anyone had used wax seals to close their letters, but this one was for a purpose. A purpose of grandeur nonetheless. It was grey wax with a wolfs head stamped into it, a symbol Jon felt was somehow familiar to him but he couldn’t place why. 

He read the letter again, the elegant script now almost as familiar as his own handwriting. He still felt odd and unsure if what he was doing was right, if this was all some sort of misunderstanding and he wasn’t the Jon Snow that was addressed in the letter. 

The train roared to life, and suddenly Jon fell back into the present time, tearing his eyes away from the letter before him. The steam from the engine was clouding up the windows as the train began to move, so he turned his eyes towards the large man in front of him. Tormund sat in the red cushioned booth across from him, a curious look in his light eyes and a red eyebrow raised in curiosity. 

“Why must you read that so much?” he asked Jon, watching as his best friend folded the letter once more, carefully slide it back into the envelope and then tuck it away in his suit pocket. His hand shook a little as he smoothed it over the gelled back quiff in his dark hair. An action not unnoticed by Tormund. 

“Validation perhaps. That this is all real” Jon shrugged, feeling uneasy with the motion of the train. He felt as if he would be sick. 

“Why wouldn’t it feel real?” the red haired man asked, his Norwegian accent rougher than when Jon spoke. 

“As far as I knew my mother didn’t have any relatives that I ever knew about. Her parents were dead, and she told me her brothers had died in the war, and now some lord from Yorkshire writes me and tells me he’s my mother’s brother and wants to make me an heir? I just find it too hard to believe” Jon told Tormund, even though he had expressed this concern many times. His uncertainty was the main reason he had asked Tormund to join him on this visit. 

“I know you don’t like talking about your mother much Jon, and I respect that. But why do you think she kept this from you for so many years?” he asked with concern, but Jon stayed silent for a moment as he looked out the train window.

“My mother was one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. I don’t think I ever seen her angry, except when my father died. She was just an ordinary woman, I can’t understand why she would never tell me she had family so close by. These boys, that died on the Titanic were my cousins. My _cousins_. I never even knew them, never knew about them until I read this letter” Jon sounded defeated, and hurt “I don’t understand why she kept this from me, but I owe it to myself to find out why” 

Some part of him remembered his mother telling him how all her family were dead, and he tried to recall whether or not she had sounded convincing. But then again, how could she have not sounded anything other than genuine? He hadn’t been listening closely then, he hadn’t been looking out for deceit. He had been young and had believed every word she had ever told him. 

Maybe there had been some good reason to forget her family, maybe she had ran away from a horribleness that she had not been able to voice and maybe now Jon was heading straight for it. Or perhaps there was another Jon that was still in Manchester awaiting a letter that _he_ had received instead and all of this was a misunderstanding. 

A Lord in Yorkshire? In some place called Winterfell Abbey? It seemed almost impossible for a middle class man like Jon to be receiving letters from someone who called himself Lord Stark, but then again something inside of himself burned like fire. A drive to move forward, to chase the source of the letter and find out if he really had family somewhere. 

Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so lost and helpless, just like the red haired girl who plagued his nightmares. The one he was never able to save. 

“I hope this is the right thing to do” Tormund told him, and Jon nodded, watching the countryside zip by the window. 

“I hope so too” Jon replied “I really do”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all enjoying this AU story! I'm really enjoying writing it.   
> This will be an AU where Sansa is well aware of how horrid Joffrey is and where Catelyn will actually like Jon (a perfect au in my eyes lol!) 
> 
> Leave comments and let me know how you're liking it!   
> xoxox


	4. Chapter 4

 

**_Winterfell Crypts. Yorkshire. 1912._ **

Ned Stark had always hated the crypts. He hated how cold and grey they were, and how haunting the dark tunnels were without the faintest light. Robert held a torch in his hand and was lighting the ones along the wall, the orange light flickering along the stone and casting shadows that made Ned feel as if there were people standing over his shoulder. 

As Ned walked alongside his friend it almost felt as if they were in another time, a medieval time warp that reminded him of all the stories his father had told him about these crypts. Generations of Stark Lords were buried here, their bones foundations for the walls that surrounded them but Robert had not come to pay respects to Ned’s male ancestors. Their tombs were guarded with granite statues, fashioned to their likeness and as they passed each one Ned felt that their eyes followed. He turned away when the statue of his father, Lord Rickard came into view for he couldn’t bare to see how he’d judge him. 

But they had not come to visit Ned’s father either. 

At the furthest point of the crypt, under an arch of stone in a cold hollow was the statue of the woman both men had loved dearly. Her stone face held no justice to what she had actually looked like, but there was still a haunting beauty about it. Robert lit the last torch on the wall and threw his own into the bracket, both flames illuminating her memorial even more. 

Both men just stood there for a moment, silence surrounding them along with the cloud of their memories and Robert seemed to drown in them as he stood there. But all Ned felt was shame. He was always so ashamed when he came here, when he stared into her stone eyes and told her apologies he knew she couldn’t hear. Her body wasn’t even here, it was buried somewhere Ned had never visited and that shamed him even more. 

_I failed you, Lyanna. I broke every promise I ever made you._

“This place….it feels so grim and lonely. She should be somewhere with the sun shining down on her” Robert spoke, his sadness obvious in his tone.

“She was my sister, she belongs here” Ned told him. 

_She isn’t even here_ , he reminded himself, _but it’s better if Robert thinks she is._

“She _belonged_ with me” his friend emphasised, turning his face towards him. In his small eyes there were watery tears forming and one escaped down his plump cheek “if Rhaegar hadn’t stolen her away from me then we would have been bound by blood you and I”

“The past has happened, Robert. No words of regret will change that” Ned told his friend with a firm squeeze of his shoulder. Robert seemed to grasp a little of his sense and gave a stiff nod. 

“You’re right Ned, the past is the past. Here I am talking about my grievances when you must be going through something unimaginable” Robert said with a heavy heave of his shoulders.

"It's not been easy, probably the most difficult thing I've ever faced but I have to be strong for my children, for my wife" Ned explained grimly, thinking about how all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry his remaining years away. 

"It's alright to feel helpless, to want to die from grief and to be murderous with rage. When your sister ran away I wanted to blame everyone for it, especially Rhaegar but what good would it have done? In my dreams I kill him every night, I would kill every Targaryen if I could. But they're all dead" Robert said, a red tinge to his cheeks "I've wasted years of my life feeling bitter but you Ned, have been strong for too long. Forget about being honorable and strong, cry if you want to. I won't judge" 

"I know you won't and I'm grateful. I'm glad you're here Robert" Ned told him sincerely.

"I wish I were visiting under different circumstances, but here we are and I'm happy to be a help if I can. How is our dear Lady Catelyn? I fear I haven't asked that already" 

"My wife won't leave her room, nor speak to anyone. Her lady's maid is the only one who sees her and that's only to tend to her during the day. Other than that she has had no real contact with anyone" Ned hated thinking of Catelyn holed up in her room all day, alone with her grief but every time he tried to enter her room he found it locked or else her maid would answer and give her excuses. It wasn't right for them to be grieving separately, he should have been holding her every night while she laid her anguish bare. 

"She needs her time, Ned. Give her that. If there's one thing I'm certain about in this world is how much that woman loves you, and nothing will change that. She'll come around" his words were some comfort, along with the tight grasp he placed on Ned's arm. 

"At this stage I fear she will be too unwell to attend the memorial for our sons" he sighed, running a hand over his face "and sometimes I forget she's lost a father too. You do know Lord Hoster was accompanying my boys to New York to visit Lysa?" 

"Yes, I was aware, another reason for grieving. I was fond of Lord Hoster as a boy, he was always kind to my brothers and I whenever our father would visit Riverrun with us" Robert shook his head, his hand toying with his wiry beard. 

"He was very much a father to us all. I fear Arya has taken his passing the hardest, he use to teach her how to fence and shoot. He was the only one who could tame her, and now that he's gone I'll have a harder time reigning her in" he tried to joke a little, to make the conversation lighter but it was in vain. Robert's eyes flickered to the statue of Lyanna at the mention of Ned's youngest daughter. 

"Ah yes, young Arya. How very much like Lyanna she is" he frowned deeply.

"Yes, she is" Ned replied wearily, sensing there was something other than reminiscence in Roberts words. 

"This is a difficult time Ned, I don't deny it but while we're here alone I must discuss this with you. As I said before, you and I would have been bound by blood if your sister had not chosen a Targaryen, but it's not too late" Robert explained, his eyes dropping downwards and his hands wringing themselves together "I have a son, you have a daughter. We can still join our families through marriage. Finally a Baratheon and a Stark. My Joffrey is nearly as old as your Robb, it's about time he was settled" 

"Joffrey..." Ned spluttered, thinking of the smart and sophisticated Baratheon boy and his wild and whimsical daughter "and Arya? Robert you must be mad Arya would never -"

"Not Arya, your eldest girl Sansa" 

"Sansa?" Ned questioned, the option making a little more sense "has Joffrey expressed interest in her? He would surely ask me himself instead of you speaking on his behalf" 

"He hasn't expressed interest, no more than a few comments on her beauty. But I'm sure now that we're here my wicked wife will not stop shoving him in her direction. Not that I'd be opposed to the idea" 

Ned thought about it, and wasn't sure what to make of the whole situation. It was typical of Cersei to use every situation to her advantage, even if that situation was a visit for two young boys memorials. It was the undeniable Lannister in her to make everything about her and about strengthening the already powerful family she was a part of. Ned felt a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he thought of Cersei but he swallowed it back. He did not hate Robert's boy. When he was younger he had been awfully sickly and whiny, and had once been the cause of Sansa's dog getting put down. But had he changed? It appeared as if he had. He was no longer skinny and sick, but strong and tall and looked the absolute picture of his uncle Jaime. 

Maybe a match between Sansa and Joffrey wouldn't be the worst thing to come from all this grief and sadness. 

"We'll talk more of it later" Ned told him, offering a smile as he began to lead his friend from the crypt, but something in him felt uneasy even though he couldn't place it. 

Lyanna's stone eyes seemed to watch him the whole time his back was to her, and it unsettled him greatly. Robert's words from earlier were still fresh and they echoed in his mind as if they were being said aloud this very moment inside the dreary crypt. 

_I would kill every Targaryen if I could. But they're all dead._

Robert's words circulated in his head with every step he took, and in his mind he began to think of the letter he had wrote not a week ago. The very letter that would bring the only remaining Targaryen to Winterfell. A boy with black eyes, eyes so different from his father's. 

 

* * *

 

  _ **The Library. Winterfell Abbey**_

Sansa sipped on her third cup of tea, this time it was stronger than the last one and with more sugar. She needed it more than anything right now, and found that it's familiar taste made her feel somewhat comfortable in this strange and unfamiliar situation. She sat alone with the Baratheons in the large library, while Robb entertained Tyrion by the furthest bookcase, showing him a tome about the conquerors. It seemed that the dwarf and her brother were getting along marvelously, opposed to her and the others. 

Arya had gone and abandoned her in this time of need, and she was left alone to be the gracious lady and host while her mother was unwell. How she hated Arya even more for this as Cersei Lannister's eyes raked over her again like she had been doing since she arrived. Sansa shifted on the red cushioned Victorian sofa and looked out the library window, anywhere but the prying eyes of the blonde in front of her. Myrcella and Tommen had not said much since they arrived and they now sat beside their mother and uncle on the opposite sofa. Sansa had given up trying to get the young girl to talk alone since she would have liked to take a walk around the gardens with a friendly face.

"So Sansa, have you been to London at all this year?" Cersei decided to ask her and Sansa was forced to look her way. She held onto her tea cup very tightly and noticed it was empty. The footman who was standing idly by jumped to readiness as soon as he noticed, taking the empty cup from her hands and bowing low. 

"Would you like some fresh tea, my lady?" the young footman asked.

"Thank you Theon, but I think I've had enough tea for one day" she smiled at him, looking into his grey eyes. He smirked a little as was usual for his character. 

"I daresay you need something stronger, my lady" he muttered as he stood up straight once again. Sansa had to hide her dry smile behind a velvet glove and a discreet cough and then turned back to Robert;s wife who was oblivious to Theon's words.

"To answer your question, no I have not been to London at all this season" Sansa answered, smoothing down the skirt of her black lace dress. She hated the color but everything she wore now was a mark of mourning, how she longed to wear emerald green or blush pink again "but I hear Lady Margaery Tyrell is planning a ball at the end of this year, I hope to attend and I will perhaps see you at it Myrcella. I would so wish to meet in circumstances less gloomy" 

"Yes, I would like that very much" Myrcella smiled and Sansa beamed back. She had a lovely smile, such a pretty one filled with warmth. She was so different from her mother. 

"Oh you must visit London soon. Myrcella and I do stay with my father quite a lot and love to shop around the city, you must join us sometime little dove" Cersei told her, the nickname rolling off her tongue. Sansa wondered if she called many people that, if it was just courtesy or if there was a certain motive underneath it all.

"Her brothers and grandfather have just died, Mother. I doubt she wants to shop for parasols with you and Myrcella" Joffrey scoffed behind his tea cup, his eyes flashing wildly as he scalded his mother in front of them all. Sansa sat frozen in her chair, the casual way Joffrey had spoken of her brothers and Grandpa Tully felt like a slap to the face.

Before anyone could reply the door to the library opened and a wrinkled and familiar face appeared. 

"The Dowager Countess, my Lady" Butler Luwin announced as was custom, his words directed at Sansa. She rose from her chair, smoothing down any creases in her dress as the woman who had just been announced so graciously walked in. 

"Granny, what a lovely surprise" Sansa greeted as her mother's mother strolled inside, a great look of disapproval on her face and her hand gripping her walking cane tightly. 

"My dear girl, how lovely it is to see you" Granny Tully said, her eyes the same shade as Sansa's and through her grey hair there was one stripe of auburn that remained. She embraced her granddaughter briefly and then turned her attention to the family of Baratheons and Lannisters. 

"I hope I'm not imposing on your visit, but my train came back earlier than I expected and I thought I'd stop in" she said in that grand and eloquent voice of hers. Sansa took comfort every time she heard it, no matter what her Granny was saying. It was the voice that had told her stories of knights and princes.

"Not at all Lady Tully" Jaime stood up, extending a hand and taking hers "may I express my deepest condolences on behalf of my family. I was saddened to hear of Lord Hoster's passing. My father was very fond of him" 

"Why thank you, things always seem more sincere when they're said by a handsome face like yours" her grandmother said with a smile, and Jaime Lannister let a flicker of confusion color his face for a moment, unsure whether her words were a jibe or not. Sansa knew her Granny all over and knew her words were offered as a sly dig to how _insincere_ the Lannisters were.

"My dear Robb I never even saw you standing there" she said with a guffaw, her eyes trailing all over Tyrion with a curious spectacle in her eyes. 

"Nice to see you too Granny, are you staying for dinner?" he asked her with a handsome smile. Sansa knew that _his_ was a handsome face that she loved dearly. 

"Of course I am....and no need to tell Luwin I've already told him" she held up a gloved hand as she sat herself down on the sofa, stopping Robb mid step as he made to chase down the Butler and tell him to add an extra for dinner "and Sansa, how's your dear mother, will she be joining us?" 

"I'm afraid not Granny, she's still awfully unwell" Sansa said, uncomfortable at how Joffrey was staring her down as she spoke "and speaking of which, I feel rather lightheaded myself. I think I'll go lie down before dinner. Excuse me" 

She felt their eyes on her as she left. especially the eyes of her Granny who was probably wondering why she had left so abruptly but in all honesty she couldn't have bared another moment sat there in awkward silence while trying to play host to a bunch of people she didn't like very much. Especially Cersei. 

She was glad when she caught Jeyne on the staircase, a tower of folded linens in her arms. She stopped when she seen Sansa approach her, the red headed lady looking quite flustered. 

"Jeyne, I was just about to ring the bell for you in my room" Sansa told her, speaking in a hushed whisper. 

"Is there something wrong, my Lady?" Jeyne asked curiously, thick brows furrowing. 

"I was just wondering if you'd be a darling and fetch me my riding clothes? I need to get out of this house for a little is all. Nothing to worry about" Sansa told her "try and not let anyone see you either, I don't want anyone to know where I've gone. I've told everyone I've gone to lie down" 

"Of course, my lady" Jeyne nodded "would you like me to tell Mr Cassel to saddle Prince for you?" 

"No I can do that myself, thank you" Sansa replied with, making her way past Jeyne on the wide staircase but Jeyne stopped her. 

"Would you like me to cover for you, if anyone should ask?" 

"Would you? Oh Jeyne you're a darling, I truly don't deserve you" Sansa told her gratefully "I'll be back by dinner time so don't worry" 

 

* * *

_**Bampton Village.** _

Jon had truly taken the countryside for granted when he was living in Manchester, and as he walked around the small town of Bampton he realised just how much. He had left Tormund in the small town inn and had taken it upon himself to familiarise his mind with the surroundings. He didn't know exactly how long he'd be here for and while he was here he wanted to know the place his mother had grown up in, according to Lord Starks letter anyway. 

It was a nice place filled with golden stone cottages and beautiful churches and small winding rivers that disappeared into green woods. He liked the scenery here much better than Manchester. He didn't miss the steam and fog from the factories and stations one bit. Every new twist and turn of the dirt track road he was on made him wonder whether his mother had walked the same path, if she had enjoyed it just as much. In some way Jon felt more at home here than he ever had. In some way he knew all this was real, but he dared not say it aloud. The road was beginning to get wider at the edge of the forest and he knew a few metres down the road the little town awaited him once again, welcoming him back after his excursion. 

As he walked nearer to the small bridge and stream he found however that he was not alone. Ahead of him, looking quite distressed and exasperated was a black horse and a girl who was trying her hardest to hold it while at the same time trying to look underneath its foot. Jon jogged towards her, his helpful instincts kicking in. 

"Excuse me do you need any help?" Jon asked her, peering at her from where she was crouched under the horse. She shot up straight away at the sound of his voice and Jon instantly regretted startling her. The girl stood up straight and looked at him and in one moment he felt the greatest elation at the sight of her. She, whoever she was, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

The evening sun was glinting off of her copper hair, making it light up like the flickering flames in a hearth. It was messy and curls fell from every direction as they escaped her pins. Her eyes were the loveliest blue and made him think of summer skies and clear oceans. There was dirt on her face and mud splashed on her ivory blouse and her riding skirt but she still looked like the prettiest picture. He was speechless for a moment as he stood there and her lips that were the color of cherries were moving as if she were saying words but nothing was coming out. It took him a moment to realise she probably _was_ saying words and he just couldn't hear them because he was in a stupor. How stupid he was to become mute around a beautiful lady. All of a sudden he had turned into those sappy fools in novels. 

"I'm sorry sir, are you quite alright?" she asked him, her voice grand and sweet. He shook himself out of it immediately and met her eyes. They seemed to pierce through him. 

"I'm fine, just lost my head for a second. Are you alright? You seem to be having a bit of trouble" Jon asked the woman, watching as she huffed and blew a stray curl from her face. 

"I think he lost a shoe but I can't tell, every time I go to check he stands away from me" the woman told him, eyeing her horse with contempt. 

"I can take a look for you if you wish" Jon told her, using a hand to pat the sweaty coat of the black stallion. 

"Are you sure? He's very temperamental"

"I used to work at a stables when I was a boy, I used to work with the worst of them and I'm not talking about the horses" Jon told her, glad when she smiled at his comment.

"Very well then, if he kicks you I'll suppose your expertise have dwindled" she remarked back with an even bigger smile, something akin to mischief in her eyes.

Jon bent down after he pulled up his trousers and found himself taking up the left foot in his hands, the very one she had tried to get at. The horse didn't move once as Jon stroked his belly back and forth to soothe him and he was grateful for that. He didn't fancy being knocked out by a stallions kick in front of a beautiful woman. 

"So is it the shoe, is it gone?" the red haired beauty asked him, her blue eyes alighting with concern as Jon stood up. 

"I'm afraid not, the frog of his foot is bleeding so I assume he must have stood on something while you were riding. I'd get a vet to look at him" he told her and she frowned. 

"Well that's unfortunate, but thank you for your help....?" she mused, using her eyes to study him. 

"Jon" he told her, extending a hand for her to shake. 

"Sansa" she told him as she shook it, making his palm tingle with electricity. Did he imagine it or did she let him hold her hand longer than she should have?

"Sansa? What an unusual name" he told her "but no less pretty" 

"Thank you" Sansa told him, eventually taking her hand away from his and using it to pet her horses neck "and thank you for helping me with Prince, he's ever so hot tempered with me sometimes. It's exactly the reason my father thinks we make such a good team together. Maybe he's right" 

"Well I hope you get his foot taken care of" Jon told her and she nodded as she began to lead her lame horse away, heavy breaths coming from Prince as he walked. 

"I don't recall ever seeing you in the village before, are you from out of town?" Sansa asked him as she looked back over her shoulder. 

"Something like that" he replied with a smile, watching her walk away "I hope to see you again. Will I?" 

"Perhaps" was her reply as she gave him one last look before turning around fully and heading down the road. He just stood and looked after her for a moment, trying to remember the exact shade of her eyes but it was hard when the sky was turning dark and was no longer the lovely blue he was now fond of. He wondered if he'd ever see her again and knew in a town this small he probably would. He began to walk back towards the inn, looking forward to their next meeting. 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys all enjoy! And please leave comments I very much like to hear how you're enjoying this!

_**The Dukes Corridor. Winterfell Abbey. 1912.** _

The house was eerily silent after the clock had struck midnight. But a house as large as Winterfell Abbey always seemed scarily quiet whenever the cover of darkness fell upon it, and especially along the Dukes Corridor. Only one other person slept along the third floor corridor of the massive house; and that was Lady Sansa. The room that had always stayed as spare and empty beside hers had now been a temporary sanctuary for Lord Stark. 

He had almost settled himself here even though he missed his own room and the comfort of sleeping beside his wife. In truth, he really just missed _sleeping_ altogether. He had not done much of that since the devastating news had reached Winterfell, and with it the heartbreak of losing two sons. It seemed so long ago, he thought, that he was leaving them off at the station with their grandfather to embark on a new adventure. 

They had been so innocent and excited, just like children should be and then their life had been taken away. It was the most unfair of crimes, and one that was tearing apart his family. 

He thought of Robb and how strong he was trying to be, how lordly and hospitable he was to their guests who had joined to mourn them. He thought of Arya and how his heart broke for his youngest girl, how he knew she was made of iron and steel but inside she was no more than a grieving young woman who had no other friend in the world besides their young driver. Maybe he should tell her their friendship was unacceptable and non-societal but he couldn't bring himself to, not at this time, and not when the boy's secret weighed at the back of his mind. A secret the boy didn't even know he owned. 

Sansa came to his mind next, her eyes clear and blue and unblemished with red rings or water lines like Arya's. Sansa seemed almost.....distant towards the whole situation, like she didn't acknowledge or believe what had happened. He also felt guilt whenever he thought of her and how this match with Joffrey Baratheon was in the works without her knowing of it. Sansa was almost, if not more headstrong than Arya, and would not marry any man she found unfit. No doubt she'd stamp her foot at one mention of marrying the eldest child of Robert and Cersei. 

And then there were his ghosts from the past that were going to be resurrected after years of trying to forget them. 

He put his head in his hands as he sat on the edge of the king sized bed, still fully clothed and too tired to even move. The candles by his bedside were flickering softly and his eyes drooped with the dreamy rhythm they displayed as they cast themselves along the wall. But before he could fall asleep where he was sitting, the door to the bedroom was opened and in stepped his wife, bathed in a swath of candlelight and a look of pure unfiltered anger on her face. 

He didn't know whether or not he was delighted or frightened to see her. He hadn't set eyes on her in days. Not for lack of trying but because she was so adamant to send him away.

"Cat" Ned sighed softly, his hands beginning to tremble unsteadily as they gripped his knees. He let his eyes fall all over her, taking in her disheveled appearance.

Catelyn Tully was, and had always been, the most beautiful woman Eddard Stark had ever seen. He had first become acquainted with her when he was thirteen years old and when he had first discovered how pretty girls could be. But it had been obvious from the start that his mother and father had wanted her to marry Brandon, his elder brother and so he had given up any hope of courting her. That was until they had shared a forbidden kiss under an ivory gazebo at her family home when they were sixteen. Everything had gone from there, and in a world of arranged marriages for land and money, they had found true love. A love that could have withstood anything.

Or so Ned thought.

He didn't know what they were anymore. He was in a room with someone as familiar as his own face, but it felt like she was a stranger.

Her face was gaunt and pale, and there were bags underneath her crystal blue eyes that made her look so much older than she was. Her long auburn hair was tied in a rough plait that trailed down her back, and she wore a nightgown of light green silk that hung from her thin body. Cat's beautiful face was now twisted into a look of anger and hurt, and as he looked her over he noticed for the first time she held a letter in her shaking hands. He knew what it was. Before he even heard her speak, he knew exactly what it was. 

"How could you?" Catelyn whispered, her voice hoarse and rough. Ned swallowed thickly as he felt a lump rise in his throat. 

"You must trust me that I have a very good explanation for this" He told her as he rose from his place on the bed. As he stood he towered over her and her eyes rose to meet his sadly. She looked like a storm, he thought, but her eyes were as sad as the sea. 

"Trust you? Trust you, Ned? After I read this letter?" Cat said as she waved the letter in his face. He caught sight of the signature at the bottom as she did. _Jon Snow_ , it read. 

Ned watched his wife walk to the large window that faced the end of the bed. Her movements were graceful and fluid and her pale skin shone with the light of the moon as it filtered through the window. He wondered whether or not he was talking to a ghost now. Her eyes fell to the letter and he watched her for a moment, wondering what was going through her mind. 

 _"I write in response to your letter that I received not a week ago"_ she read in an almost hushed murmur _"I start by saying my deepest condolences to you and your family for the tragedy you have suffered. I admit I was thoroughly confused that I had ever had a family in Yorkshire. I was greatly surprised that you knew my mother Lyanna, as she never mentioned she had any living relatives......"_

"My dear you must listen to me, I was going to tell you but I felt it wasn't the right time. You were grieving and this news was too much for you to bear" he tried to explain but she was having none of it. 

"I am grieving! I _have_ been grieving, while you write letters to other children and asking them to take my sons place! Are you so consumed by your own grief that you think this will diminish the fact that we have lost our boys? Do you think this Jon Snow from Manchester will replace them?" she was furious at him for all the wrong reasons, but in her heartbroken mind they were right. She threw the letter onto the bed, the inked words burning through the paper like dragons fire. 

"I am not and will never try and replace my sons" Ned spoke so softly that the whole room seemed still, even the candles stopped flickering. But there was an underlying coldness to his words that made Catelyn drop her furious facade for a moment "but this must be done, you must try and understand this. Varys was the one who contacted me about this" 

"Varys" Catelyn rolled her eyes, like she did most times at the mention of the family's private lawyer. Varys knew everything about everyone even if you didn't know it, and helped consult most aristocratic families within England. Catelyn had never warmed to him like Ned had over the years "and what did Varys contact you about?" 

"It was over a year ago, when I had traveled to London to talk of strengthening the entail to the estate. The girls are getting older and I needed to make sure that when they married they'd have considerable dowry's to take with them. That was the purpose of the visit, nothing else. But then Varys told me that having three male heirs wasn't enough, should anything ever happen and that if anything ever did then whomever my eldest daughter chose to marry would inherit Winterfell and everything in it" 

"So how does this boy come into play?" his wife asked him, her eyes burning like the candles as she stared at his face. The face she loved despite it all. 

"I set him up as my fourth heir, and left it at that. Cat you must understand, my father is dead. My brother's died in the Boer war and never had any children. My mother was an only child and had no other family either. I never thought that one day my own sons would be dead too. I didn't mean for Jon to become the second heir, I never wanted that. I was just hoping that when I died he'd come into some money and that Robb would inherit Winterfell and all our children would be married" 

"But our sons are dead, and now some stranger comes here to take what was theirs. How is it right?" 

"He's my nephew. My sister's son. He's Lyanna's boy, and god knows I've never set my eyes on him but I already know I love him as I loved his mother" Ned told her "if I can give him what I gave my sons when they were alive and treat him with the respect Lyanna would want me to then I will. Everyone else be damned!" 

He turned his back to her and strode towards the bed. She watched him with her blue eyes alight with curiosity and a love that never seemed to leave her. Yes, he was stubborn and full of fury but she loved him nonetheless and even now she did, while he was fuming silently in the corner. She knew it was hard for her, but maybe it was harder for him. He had to be strong as the head of the family, while she had been allowed to stay in her bedroom and weep. He had to hold himself together while she could break apart. He hadn't been comforted at all, and she could see he ached to be as his shoulders shook and his breathing got deeper. 

Maybe she had been selfish to believe he did this for the wrong reasons. She had thought he sought some replacement for their sons, a way of dealing with his grief by adopting another male heir into the family. And maybe she didn't want to believe that he was Lyanna's boy. She didn't want to think that he had been kept away from them all these years. 

Catelyn sighed deeply as she made her way towards her husbands shaking frame, and for a second she was afraid to touch him. But she broke the border of her doubt with shaking hands as she placed them on his back. He softened immediately at her touch and she was surprised at how quickly he did. He had needed her more than she had thought. 

"Is he really Lyanna's son?" she asked him quietly, her hands drawing patterns on the back of his dress shirt. 

"He's really Lyanna's boy" Ned told her as he turned around, looking at her before falling onto the edge of the bed with a sigh "she wrote to me twenty five years ago and told me she was pregnant and to never mention it to another living soul. I wrote to her, begging for her to come back to Winterfell so we could raise her child and Robb together but she wouldn't have it. I wanted to tell you, but she made me promise. I had broken too many promises to her in the past that I was determined to keep this one. What do you think my father would have done when he found out she was pregnant with a Targaryens baby? What do you think Robert would have done?" 

 _He's really Lyanna's boy._ Those words rang clear through Catelyn's head like they were the notes of a church bell. She could almost see Lyanna's ghost before her, a crown of blue roses in her hair and a glimmer or romanticism in her eyes. She had always been such a positive girl, such a delight to be around and Catelyn had always loved her more than she had loved Lysa, her own sister. With the memory of Lyanna Stark, Catelyn seemed to soften and with it her heart began to thaw out. 

"If he's Lyanna's son then he'll have a place here" she told Ned, her fingers nimbly tracing the stubble on his jaw. He trembled under her touch and placed a rough hand over one of hers, his eyes lifting to her blue. 

"I love you, my darling" his words were in gratitude, like a thank you, but he meant them, of that she was positive. He always meant them. "And I am sorry I've not been there for you like a husband should be" 

"Our grieving has not seen the end of its days, and neither have we. I love you too, Ned but it's me who should be apologising. I pushed you away, and it was wrong of me" Catelyn began, tears beginning to well in her eyes. 

"That's forgotten about, let's just move on together" Ned told her, taking her hands and kissing each finger slowly, pressing his lips harder on the wedding band that lay on one of them "I fear the future will be harder to face separately" 

* * *

_**The Breakfast Dining Room. Winterfell Abbey. 1912.** _

Sansa had woken especially early this morning, even before the routine wake up call from her lady's maid. All night long her mind had been swimming with memories of her brothers and she had faced broken sleep throughout the early hours of the morning. Her nightmares had haunted her into insomnia and she found she was almost frightened to close her eyes. In one of her dreams Robb too had perished with the others and each time she woke from it she had to convince herself that Robb was very much alive and well. It was just some demon in her own subconscious that was trying to convince her that she would lose everything, but she would not. She would never let her oldest brother leave her as easily as the others had. 

Jeyne had made it her job to cover Lady Sansa's sleep deprived bags under her eyes with an ivory powder as she had prepared her for breakfast. She had pinned her hair in a bun at the back of her head with pearl beads embedded so tightly through the copper tresses that Sansa could feel them every time she moved her head. Just like always she was dressed impeccably, even if her dress was as dark as coal. How she hated wearing black. 

She had always been the proper lady, and had left the wild tomboyish ways of childhood to Arya. But sometimes Sansa wanted to break from her constraints. 

The other day on the road she had met a handsome stranger while looking the most disheveled in her life. Prince had gotten a little fresh as they had rode deeper into the woods and before Sansa knew it he was jumping over the river and splashing her with mud and water and in the process her pins had come loose and her fiery hair was flying all around her. She wanted to be _that_ Sansa more sometimes. 

 But now she sat like a pretty picture at the breakfast table, Granny Tully on one side and Arya on the other. Robb was sitting across the oak table, his fingers playing with his spoons. She felt stiff and sore as she turned her head towards her sister. The pins in her hair dug into her scalp and the aching joints in her neck throbbed from the lack of comfort she had suffered from last night. Sansa eyed her sister with a quizzical look. Her dark hair was pinned haphazardly on her head and her eyes were red and bloodshot. It was clear that she had also gotten no sleep, but Sansa was better at hiding it. 

"Arya" Sansa began, the sides of her mouth a little tight. Her sister looked at her then, those gray and worn out eyes turned to her with a sadness in them that Sansa had no words for. Sometimes, she thought, I wish I was a better sister to her so I could comfort her properly. 

"Yes, Sansa" Arya replied, her voice strained and tired. 

"You have grease on your face" Sansa told her gently, handing her a handkerchief that Arya took while her cheeks began to blush. 

"Thank you" she mumbled, her eyes swiftly darting to Robb who was beginning to spread marmalade on a piece of toast. He studied her with his brows furrowed and his Tully blue eyes alight with curiosity. Sansa couldn't understand why he seemed so intrigued. 

"How on earth did you manage to get it on your face?" Arya's red haired sister asked. 

"I couldn't imagine" Arya shrugged, scrubbing the handkerchief over her blushing skin while she looked at her reflection in a spoon. 

"I would begin to speculate that it had something to do with me seeing you coming from the garages this morning" came the sarcastic delight from Granny Tully. Sansa's teaspoon clattered against her China cup at the revelation, and Robb took on an equally shocked expression on his face. 

"Granny!" Arya exclaimed embarrassed, her wild Stark eyes darting everywhere except her families faces. 

"I may be old Arya darling, but I'm still observant and I always wake up at the crack of dawn. Don't think you can sneak anything past me" Granny told her, those weird blue eyes that Sansa always thought held some holistic power bored into her sister. 

"The garages? Why on earth were you there?" Sansa asked her, turning in her chair to take her in. Arya was still blushing and she took to smoothing down her hair in an attempt at deflection. It's a little too late for that, thought Sansa.

"I was just taking a walk to get my mind off things and just wondered around for a bit. There was no one else in there, I swear it" the youngest Stark daughter explained. Sansa found something deceptive about her words, and found exactly why that was. Sansa had begun to think it for a long while but had never voiced it aloud. Maybe it all had something to do with the young and handsome chauffeur, but anything that Sansa had to say on the matter was lost in a whirl as Joffrey Baratheon and his uncle Tyrion entered the room.

Joffrey, as always, looked splendidly glorious with his blonde tresses and pink lips; an image of an angel in an Italian painting. His green eyes took in the large dining area with a twinkle that glinted wickedly, and then his gaze found Sansa's. His mouth then curled into a ravishing smile, one that would have warmed the heart of a more fickle person but Sansa was not convinced it was genuine, but she smiled back nonetheless. Tyrion Lannister eyed the blue and gold wallpaper and fine paintings that hung around the room with a curious appreciation. He was holding his walking cane tightly and waddled his way towards the table. 

"So they've brought the circus to Winterfell. How lovely" Granny Tully said from the corners of her mouth, her whisper meant for her granddaughters ears only as she took in the grinning boy and the dwarf. 

"Good morning, my dear Lady's and Robb, my good fellow" the dwarf greeted with a warm smile. This time when Sansa smiled back it was genuine. 

"My Lady Sansa, you are looking beautiful today, if I am allowed to speak so frankly" Joffrey bowed a little before sitting in the heavy oak chair in front of them. 

"Thank you Joffrey, you are too kind" she replied. She didn't feel beautiful, not when he said it to her with that evil looking sneer on his face. 

Sansa had never liked Joffrey in any way, and now that he was older it was just worse. She could understand exactly what those leering looks in his eyes meant and why his mouth curled up so slyly at the corners. He was every inch his mother, and none of his father. That, she could plainly see. All through breakfast he casually talked with her, all the while keeping that smile on his face. She wondered what her father would make of all his compliments and falsehoods if he had of joined them. Sansa could have guessed he would have seen right through him, but would have remained as polite as she was pretending to be for appearances sake. 

My brothers are dead, she thought, and I wish I was allowed to just grieve. 

But she couldn't. She had to sit and smile through the pain and pretend to be courteous and ladylike because that's what societal women did. She wondered if that's all she was meant to do. After they had finished their breakfast, Theon set out a tea tray with light lemon cakes while Ramsay; the second footman, brought the silver platter of china teacups. Both she and Arya were grateful at the sight of the small cakes, and both girls had to hold back from reaching for them before their guests. Sansa had always loved lemon cakes and they were made very rarely, but before Sansa could take a bite of hers a call of her name from across the table drew her away. 

"Yes?" she asked politely, her Tully eyes meeting the undeniable Lannister green of Joffrey's. 

"I hope I wouldn't be bold in asking you to take a turn around the gardens with me? I would so very much like for you to accompany me" he asked her, his voice like dripping honey "and since your father is not here to witness this I would like to ask your permssion, Robb" 

Robb was across the table, his eyes flickering between his younger sister and the Baratheon boy with a very plain look of doubt on his face. He didn't trust Joffrey any more than Sansa did, but he found it would be rude to refuse him. 

"Of course it would be alright Joffrey, and I'm certain my Lord father would not object either if he was here and not with my Mother. But I would ask that Sansa's governess Mr Mordane would chaperon you. Theon would you please call for Ms Mordane?" he asked the footman, and Theon nodded graciously before bowing out of the room to fetch the old governess. Sansa gave a little sigh of relief that was pure gratefulness for Robb's ability to think quickly. As long as Ms Mordane was there Joffrey wouldn't be able to put her in any awkward situations. 

He stood up then, looking like a prince from a fairy tale with his long blond curls and magnificent eyes. He _was_ beautiful, that Sansa couldn't deny, but there was a wickedness that lived deep within him and sometimes it would flash in his eyes before it would disappear. Something inside her was frightened of him, and she had always felt that way; the fear had never really gone away. But he held out his arm for her like a proper gentleman would and she stood up, her pale face tightly pulled into a fake smile and her grieving heart heavy as she let him lead her away from her family, and towards the gardens. 

 

 

 

 


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